


Twenty Questions

by perifairy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 05:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18359756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perifairy/pseuds/perifairy
Summary: Steve and Natasha in a night of Twenty Questions.





	Twenty Questions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiraFigs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraFigs/gifts), [salacious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salacious/gifts).



> DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Rights and property go to their respective owners.
> 
> Highly unbeta'ed, written in a whim, in the guise of therapy.
> 
> For Kira and Lin. And all of you taking the time to read, thank you and enjoy.

**_20._ **

_This is really happening?_

__It definitely is._ _

* * *

She knows right away it’s from Clint - something about the arrangement of the red and whites and he must have asked if there were black flowers to complement the eccentric style, just to make it more personal. She understands the sentiment anyway. 

__“Nat._ _

__Cooper and Lila are in. Guess you’d expect that. But little Nate?_ _

__He says he can’t wait for someone to finally push around, and not be the baby anymore._ _ __

__(The little shit. He definitely got it from the bigger shit. - Laura)_ _ __

__Can’t wait._ _ __

__Love, Clint.”_ _ __

Natasha reaches for one red rose from the bunch, the softness of the petals a contrast against her skin. She remembers that moment Clint made a different choice, many years ago, when he decided to spare her life and give her a second chance. She has never been more thankful finally knowing __this__  was all, __after all__ , where it would eventually end up. 

__Me too._ _

* * *

“I saw the note in Cap’s handwriting and I figured - this,” Tony hands her a warm cup of coffee, “is definitely not for me.” 

“Hmm. Black?” 

“There was an option for two cubes of sugar.” 

“Black. Definitely pure black.” 

“Not even a pinch of creamer? No?” He makes a gesture as if to offer, followed by a dramatic snatch that is characteristically Tony Stark in his morning glory. 

Natasha shakes her head, looking down at the note.

_18\. Just black?_

“This is cheating.”

“Is this some sort of a weird game you guys are playing? That’s gonna get kinky down the line somewhere?”

Yes, it does look like, the coffee hasn’t kicked yet in the mechanic’s system. She raises one eyebrow at him, a challenge as to how far is he willing to hear the answer to that question. He should know by now that Natasha indulges when she feels like it.

And she does feel like it. 

She takes a sip from her cup of coffee, gaze intent and questioning. 

Tony caught himself - then caught something __glittering__ , alright - and backpedaled.

“On second and third thought, don’t answer that.” 

“Hmm.”

“However - what I do want to know is,” he probes her as leans by the counter, taking his own slow sip from his coffee cup, “ _ _that.”__

Natasha shrugs.

“Is this what I think this is?”

Her heart skipped a beat for reasons unknown to her and she takes some time to reply. 

“I think. I hope. Yes?” 

His gaze equally challenging, with no intention of backing down, Tony makes the motion of fumbling on his phone from his pocket, dialing a number Natasha doesn’t even have to guess.

“You and I know Red, that’s among the biggest lies you’ve told in your entire lifetime.” Ring, ring. “And you’ve told many.” 

“Tony.”

 He makes the motion for her to zip it - with respect - a playful raise of his index finger near her face.

“Pepper, darling. I’ve got something __big__  to tell you, something big we have to plan…” 

 _ _Black, just black,__  Natasha muses, hearing the peals of laughter across the common area as Tony walks away towards a more secluded area of the kitchen. Sometimes even pure black isn’t strong enough. When she assumes she hears what might have been a shriek - Tony puts away his phone from his ear - she decides to brew another cup. 

“Oh God.”

 

* * *

_**16.**   _Trekking in the mountains or scuba diving?__

__Scuba diving. You know I do like to get wet._ _

__**17.** Beach or garden? _ _ __

__Church. Definitely in a church._ _

Sorry Sam.

* * *

Sam and Wanda break the morning silence when they come in - not because of the usual bickering or Sam’s heavy footsteps against the carpeted floor. (Seriously.)

Natasha blames the rattling sound the beans make against the wood, despite Sam’s efforts to tone it down. 

Goddamned maracas? At 8 am in the morning? Also, Wanda has flower crown in her head and they were __both__  wearing white. 

“I didn’t get the memo we were supposed to wear white on Thursdays,” she starts, and in a split second her eyes turn to slits. 

“You think you two are being funny?” 

Wanda throws a pocketful of petals playfully at her in response, sporting a nonchalant look on her face. 

“Sam made me do it.” 

Said man named Sam Wilson has already started some sort of a hippy beat, maracas beating out of tune, making his way towards Natasha in a series of funny dancing moves. Like he is in a beach about to throw down some pina colada by the bar, so __obviously__ happy, like a hundred bucks richer happy -

“PARA BAILAR LA BAMBA!!!”

And Natasha is helpless in keeping her own laughter at the sight, a foreign kind of joy bubbling up __since...__  

Wanda joins in, albeit more reserved than Sam’s funky moves, and the young lady takes her _left_ hand as an invitation. She stares at it too __closely__  and smiles. 

“Arriba y arriba!!!” Sam sing-songs in a fake sexy accent to Natasha, gesturing a come-hither-look. But Natasha just shakes her head, still smiling.

With his laughter as loud as only Sam Wilson could be, he offers an embrace to the spy, arms wide open, in which the latter accepted with a muffled laughter of her own. Wanda relishes the moment, snapping a picture from her phone. 

****Wanda** **

__You have a beautiful family. <3_ _ __

****Steve Rogers** **

__Thank you for being part of it._ _

She then joins in the embrace - nobody will ever replace Pietro in her life, but having Sam, Steve and Natasha has helped fill the void. A sister and two other brothers?

She has never felt more at home in her life.

* * *

 

To her, it feels like they live moment by moment. On one end, they cling to life and on the next, they fly at the height of it. Extremes are normal, like two ships passing in the night. All they have is that brief, certain point of collision - when she comes home from a long mission and when he goes out on another, they live for the quiet moments in the in-between. 

__We have what we have when we have it._ _

She feels him move rather than sees him, and it almost hurts how only by then sleep had decided to come. __The in-betweens.__ If he made notice that she is awake (that she hasn’t slept at all), he says nothing by it, just stroking her hair and touching her everywhere he can with his eyes still closed. All stolen before he goes. 

Natasha listens to his heart beat, her hand against his chest, the __reminder__  so real she is mesmerized by it against the soft light. _Mine. Something that's mine._ But now the sun has risen, and hours have passed, and the fears which used to belong in the night, came crawling back in the daylight - if she will ever be enough, if she will do him good, if she will ever deserve to be loved, and be __loved__  by him - __her__ , who’s got more than enough red in her ledger - 

“Steve?” 

“Hey.” 

She is almost afraid to ask, but she trusts him, so she does. 

“Are you sure?” 

And he holds her like he holds the whole world in his hands. 

“Always.”

* * *

****04: 45 Romanoff** **

Munjal, the old blood diamond dealer from underground New Delhi. Is he still active?

****04: 45 Barton** **

Guess so. Heard he’s still giving tips to the anti-black market forces. Why?

****04: 46 Romanoff** **

I’m thinking of having him appraise something for me.

****04: 46 Barton** **

Huh. What you got?

__Attachment sent._ _

****04: 47 Barton** **

Fancy. Where did you get that?

****04: 52 Barton** **

What the fuck Romanoff??

 ** **04: 54****   ** **Barton****

Nat? 

She puts her phone into silent mode. She knows how Clint can be when he is in pursuit of the truth.

Her body sated and her heart full, she snuggles closer to Steve. She will deal with Clint later.

* * *

“What’s your favorite part of me?”  

“A little bit of everything. Maybe everything.” 

“But if you have to choose?” 

“Elbows. Out of all the elbows I’ve seen…” 

“Steve.”

“Armpits?” 

“I’m not sure…” 

“I’m not sure if it’s armpits first. Then elbows. It’s a tie?" 

“Hmm.” 

“And you? What’s your favorite part of me?”

Natasha pushes herself up and places her hand on top of what he’s asking for. Steve is grinning stupid, because he knows the answer to this of course. He thanks the serum for it, feeling the way Natasha’s fingers are drumming against his skin along with the faint beat, and he almost mocks her for it - __it’s the serum, that’s not really me__  -

“Your heart.”

He __knows__ the answer to this.

When she lays back down on his chest, he takes her hand, playing with her ring finger and __that__ on her finger -

“Can I change my answer?”

“No.”

So he settles in holding her closer and never letting her go - vowing to spend the rest of their lives letting her know it’s her soul he loves her the most for.

* * *

 

They have made love more times than she would deserve to be made love to in this lifetime. Steve hates it, and will hate it, that she still thinks this way - when he is all but nothing short of _desperate_ for her every single time. 

He reveres her in the way he touches, and reaches deep in her soul when he kisses. There is longing in the way he breathes her in when he gasps for air, breaking one kiss after the other, like it will never be enough. He holds her like she is fragile, strong hands at her hips as he pushes inside, and grunts as he does so - he restrains his strength even though he knows she welcomes being broken by him and him alone.

When he comes, and so does she, in the aftermath Natasha realizes - she has tears in her eyes.

Steve looks at her, _really_ looks at her - like the first time he told her he trusts her in that tiny bedroom running for their lives - that he trusts her with his _life_. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” 

Her hair falls like a curtain as she peers down at him, kissing him lightly on the lips. One second of longing more and she will lose herself in him all over again. So Natasha settles for light, slow, unhurried - a small kiss against a smile of her own in her lips.

She cries when she says, “I think I have an idea.”

She’s glad to know she has the rest of her life, with him, to figure it out.

* * *

“She said yes.”

Same words, sent to two different persons. The three of them are friends, more like brothers - yet how they can be so different?

 

 ** **Sam****  

Das how we roll baby!!! but ofcourse shed say yes

Thank u for making me a hundred dollars richer 2

****

****Bucky** **

Fuck. where exactly do I get a hundred bucks spare?

congrats

btw. does the widow kill before or after she mates?

 

With friends like them, who needs enemies?

 

* * *

 “Come on, by this time - you should be, I don't know, flying straight into my arms?” 

“What the fuck.”

__Whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuck._ _

__But calmer._ _

“Natasha?”

“What the fuck.”

“I’ve seen it in the movies - they run straight and jump high and I’m here Nat, I’m ready to catch you.” 

If she’s any close enough though, she would hear how loudly his heart was beating against his chest. One, for faking this false bravado Steve is sure Natasha can see right through anyway; and two, she hasn’t given him an answer yet.

Yet.

__Whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuck._ _

__But panicking._ _

“Nat?”

He remembers the first time, perhaps where it all began. She had that determined look in her eyes, so fearless, making her way towards him and jumping up from his shield leaving him in pure unadulterated awe as she fought her way against their outer world enemies. He saw her fearless soul. He remembered her brave heart.

A contrast to this time, as she walked towards him, slowly - and then all his doubts dissipated when she falls into his arms, limply. Not quite the flying he had hoped but lovely all the same.

“Is that a yes?”

Natasha takes a deep breath.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

Normal, he said. He wanted to do something normal for the night. She had just come back from a week-long mission and on the worst of times, he is about to go on one just as she had gone home. With no intention to argue and all about making the most of their time, Natasha relented - letting Steve decide the pace, the stay-at-home menu, the conversation.

She wasn’t at the very least surprised when he suggested Twenty Questions.

Classic. Oldie but goodie. Very much Steve.

So it started with the basics, with a twist - _ _if red and black doesn’t exist in this universe, what color would be your favorite?__  To variations of, _ _what do you think I’d be if I wasn’t an Avenger__. No filters, everything under the sun questions that at one point Natasha asked what Steve’s sexual fantasy is and he _indulged_  in answering.

The wine was top notch. 

By the tenth question, he knelt on the floor. She imagined the eleventh question, her question, to be something witty and thought-provoking, but all she managed to say is:

“What are you doing?”

* * *

By the tenth question, Steve asks Natasha.

“Will you marry me?”

 _ **end.**_  

 

**Author's Note:**

> This writing style is inspired by a fic I've read long ago - if you're reading this, brilliant author, thank you for the lifelong inspiration. This isn't the first time I've written in this format, but it never fails still. Also, it should still work if you read it from bottom to top (at least I think it will haha).
> 
> Notes:  
> 1) Thank you Chris Evans for the body parts inspiration.  
> 2) Sam's song is La Bamba.  
> 3) I am not a smut writer. 
> 
> Mercies for any OOCness, graces for the wrong grammar, and may we all have happy stevenat on the 26th. 
> 
> Thank you for your time!


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